2002.11.11 - Idaho Center Arena, Nampa, USA

Axl's 'Appetite' returns

By Michael Deeds

It's been nine years since Guns N' Roses' last tour and studio album, and although singer Axl Rose may have been living in one of those time capsules like Brendan Fraser in "Blast from the Past," the rest of the world has moved on. There's been grunge, crossover divas, pop-punk, boy bands, and if we're lucky, we may plow through this nasty Christina Aguilera trend by 2003.

Even more pressing than the question of whether Axl Rose still rocks is whether anyone wants to rock with him. Sure, we all remember Guns N' Roses. But do we want to peek into that whiskey-stained scrapbook again? It's easier to write off a Guns N' Roses comeback as a scam, another washed-up rocker trying to relive the glory days while the other original band members enter rehab for the umpteenth time or wash up on shore somewhere.

But there's a problem: The album. "Appetite for Destruction" -- that resilient, gracefully aging hard-rock epic -- makes it impossible to ignore these return-of-the-bad-boy shenanigans.

The memories are painful, but the truth is, we were listening to Winger when Guns N' Roses came knocking. This band single-handedly revitalized rock music. Until Rose gives us a reason to doubt him, we can't.

We owe the man.

"Appetite" was life-changing, but it feels even bigger now. The first full-length album from Guns N' Roses, it took 10 months to crack the Top 100. During that time, Rose, guitarist Slash and the rest of the sleazy G N' R circus toured with leather-clad hellraisers such as The Cult, Motley Crue, Alice Cooper and Iron Maiden.

When fans finally realized what they were hearing, "Appetite" roared up the charts on an adrenaline-fueled rampage. Three Top 10 singles -- "Sweet Child O' Mine," "Welcome to the Jungle" and "Paradise City" -- propelled it to No. 1 for five weeks. It took nearly three years for "Appetite" to drop off the Billboard charts. It was that good.

Meanwhile, Guns N' Roses took over the universe. Rose milked his image as an innocent Midwesterner turned nasty by the sins of Hollywood. He frightened parents with silly posturing and dangerous quirks (his name was an anagram for "oral sex".) He even wrote lyrics that offended ("immigrants and faggots" in the song "One in a Million"). But this guy was no Eminem. Rose was too wasted, too out of control to have a truly threatening agenda. Meanwhile, Slash was a perfect sideman -- hairy, talented and rarely photographed without a Jack Daniel's bottle present. Everyone saw the obvious influences -- Rose was a younger, more belligerent Steven Tyler, Slash was a drunker, goofier Joe Perry -- but Guns N' Roses rocked so hard that nobody cared.

G N' R is often viewed as a figment of the '80s, but this group was still as huge as ever in 1991, which is when Guns N' Roses started to lose touch with reality. Even as flannel-clad slackers from Seattle worked to usher hair-metal out the door, Rose was pushing new egotistical boundaries with the ambitious "Use Your Illusion I and II" albums -- separate, simultaneous Guns N' Roses releases. Both went seven times platinum, thanks in part to MTV, which aired that ostentatious, orchestral "November Rain" video every 5 minutes. Rose had traded his sweat-stained wifebeater for a white tuxedo. G N' R's raw energy had given way to one man's pompous vision.

The End was getting close.

By this time, drugs and boozing were catching up to G N' R, which had always reveled in its own debauchery. Two band members had come and gone. By the mid-1990s, Guns N' Roses, like so many rock bands before it, had fallen victim to its own excess. Slash left the group. Lawsuits were filed. Rose's girlfriend, model Stephanie Seymour, dumped him and claimed abuse.

Rose disappeared.

In retrospect, the demise of G N' R wasn't as jarring as it should have been. Blame it on Kurt Cobain, who was there to ease us into another evolutionary stage of modern rock. Somehow, G N' R just sort of faded away into rock oblivion, dying of natural causes.

But Rose remains a figure of myth and mystique, which creates haunting questions as he launches a North American tour with a bunch of hired musicians, calling this entourage Guns N' Roses.

Why isn't Slash in this band?

Will the new G N' R album, supposedly titled "Chinese Democracy," ever be released?

Will a Guns N' Roses concert still make your girlfriend (or, more likely, wife) want to jump your bones when you get home?

The first question is a no-brainer: Rose doesn't want Slash in the band. In fact, he doesn't want Slash in the building. Slash was banned from attending a G N' R show in Las Vegas last year.

The second question is tougher. Although we've heard new G N' R songs such as the epic ballad "Madagascar," nobody knows when this album will be released. Touring without an album isn't new for G N' R, however. That's precisely what the band did in May of 1991, five months before the release of the "Use Your Illusion" records.

As for the effect Guns N' Roses concerts will have on fans? Well, that's not clear, either. Ticket sales on this tour have been erratic so far, with two particularly slow-selling concerts in the Northwest. Obviously, some fans are on the fence about Guns N' Roses. The group's recent, sluggish performance on the MTV Video Music Awards -- featuring a chunkier, 40-year-old Rose with cornrowed hair -- didn't help much.
For the eternal optimist, though, Guns N' Roses has a chance. There's a core audience that remembers being knocked on their butts by this band. If Rose delivers the right stuff in "Chinese Democracy," he could make an argument for relevance in 2002.

It's hard not to root for him. In his own eccentric way, Rose obviously wants to welcome us back into his jungle. What remains to be seen is whether he can create a future for G N' R, or if, in the end, he's gonna die there.

Nampa show still a go

Although Axl Rose did not show up Thursday in Vancouver, B.C. for the first show on Guns N' Roses' tour, the Nampa concert is still scheduled to go on. However, if Rose doesn't show up for the band's Seattle show Friday (Nov. 8), the entire tour likely will be canceled. In other words, if Rose shows up in Seattle, expect him to show up in Nampa.

Days of Guns N' Roses are over

By Michael Deeds

Welcome to the jumble.

If there was ever any doubt that the return of Guns N’ Roses would be an epic mess, singer Axl Rose has all but erased it just three dates into the group’s North American tour.

Check that: Two dates. Rose, the group’s lone original member, didn’t bother showing up for the tour debut in Vancouver, B.C., last week, transforming it into a bloody, mace-spraying clash between angry fans and local police. (Rose’s record label blamed flight problems for the cancellation; Rose blamed venue management.) G N’ R performed in Tacoma, Wash., last Friday, but even then, vocal problems hampered the evening.

That made show No. 2 at the half-empty Idaho Center all the more depressing for expectant G N’ R fans. The night dragged on for nearly four-and-a-half hours and served as a soporific warning to the rest of the hopeful hard-rock world: Guns N’ Roses is not back. All that’s really back is Rose’s oversized rock-star ego, which easily dwarfed his ragged, barely audible voice.

Nothing about this concert made much sense. Two opening acts - rock band CKY and turntable whiz Mixmaster Mike - had been added to the bill, presumably to provide Rose ample time to arrive. If it wasn’t disturbing enough that a DJ was opening for Guns N’ Roses (what has the world come to?), fans suffered through well over an hour of dead time afterward while Rose lounged backstage. Chants of “Axl, Axl!” fermented into a bitter chorus of boos as fans realized that, yes, Rose is a tardy jerk, and, wow, those bright house lights were illuminating an embarrassingly sparse crowd.

Of course, all was forgiven when Guns N’ Roses exploded onto the bi-level stage in an avalanche of pyrotechnics and flash - at 10:20 p.m. But if the excited fans were looking for a time warp back to 1987, well, it wasn’t happening. Guns N’ Roses, once a lethal hard-rock machine that transcended the sum of its few parts, has become a convoluted, eight-member circus.

Guitarist Slash, whom Rose refuses to welcome back to the fold, has been replaced by not one, not two, but three men. (Slash must be one helluva player, eh?) Rose also employs two keyboardists, including longtime member Dizzy Reed, who moonlighted on congas during “Welcome to the Jungle.” (Yes, congas on “Welcome to the Jungle.” Repeat: Exactly what has the world come to?)

Of course, none of this mattered, because Rose’s singing could be heard only intermittently. He strained to project his voice over the band’s boomy barrage, which included a sluggish “Out Ta Get Me,” a blues-free “My Michelle” and a gut-rattling “Nightrain.” Even when Rose sat at the piano for the grandiose “November Rain” or the ballad “Patience,” his vocals lost the battle.

Dressed in three different oversized sports jerseys (including one from the Idaho Steelheads), Rose worked to atone for the problems, scurrying across the stage, his arms outstretched like a hysterical blind woman's. He often stopped to sing on the sides of the platform, inches away from teleprompters that rolled lyrics.

Some of the 4,400 fans sneaked away early. Others just chugged more beer and rawked on.

G N’ R offered just three tunes from the supposedly forthcoming “Chinese Democracy” album. Instead, Guns N’ Roses rolled through classics such as “Sweet Child O’ Mine,” “Live and Let Die” and “It’s So Easy.” But the songs were methodical. Despite G N’ R’s talented new cast, it came across as a disparate, motley crew that’s incapable of reviving G N’ R’s soul. The sleaze-blues of Guns N’ Roses has metamorphosed into a mechanical-rock onslaught.

Of the guitar trio, goth-fashion slave Robin Finck of Nine Inch Nails fame conjured up the most heartfelt solos. Session man Richard Fortus wielded his ax with a raucous freedom reminiscent of G N’ R’s glory days.

Then there was the eerie Buckethead, who looks like the missing member of Insane Clown Posse. Wearing a Michael Myers-like white mask on his face and a KFC bucket on his head, Buckethead spewed shredding guitar riffs, did a ghoulish robot dance - and gave a bizarre, between-song nunchucks exhibition. But his hyped guitar playing was like the fast-food franchise advertised on his dome: Efficient, speedy and lacking any personal touch.

G N’ R occasionally found a modest dose of energy lurking in its biggest hits. During the encore, the audience even sang along with “Paradise City,” augmented by more deafening explosions and a nifty confetti shower.

But by this time, Rose wasn’t fooling anyone: Nampa was not “Paradise City.” When he rushed to the microphone to unleash the song’s trademark opening whistle blow ... surprise, fans couldn’t hear it. Probably just as well. In the case of this tour, Guns N’ Roses isn’t signaling the start of anything worth listening to.